Fine We're All Professionals Here
by Alfonsina.d
Summary: Who knew a badly fitted bra could redefine how I think of Lula? Who knew a chance viewing of a video on YouTube would build a character? Thanks for bearing with me and being more patient with my muse than I have been. Likely this will be a monthly update. And no, I don't even know who the professionals really are. Alf.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, it's been more than just a little while. Real life happens and so does laryngitis of the fingers … aka writer's block. To those of you who have sent notes of encouragement and great reviews in the past, I humbly thank you and apologize for being MIA. Sadly, I wasn't with Ranger or it would have been much more fun._

This may or may not be a one shot. I'm not really sure if it is going anywhere or if it needs to. The muse is finally talking but seems to be speaking in Pig Latin!

Disclaimers: All of the standards apply. No one has been hurt in this endeavor and no one has benefited financially. Just taking a few characters out for a spin and having a little fun.

In my heart and mind, the series ended with book 12 … so this is some time after Twelve Sharp, but I have no idea when.

 **Fine … We're All Professionals Here**

 **By Alfonsina**

It seemed that my whole life, I've been putting on a show for someone's entertainment. Had I been paid for my entertainment skills and not my bounty hunting or office jobs, I'd be able to make both ends meet and maybe even pass each other. Since I've never been paid for my entertainment skills and I wasn't being overly well paid for bounty hunting, shall we say both ends wave at each other from time to time? One day both ends will meet, but it was very likely they wouldn't recognize each other.

Today, I was doing another unintended free show, but had no idea if there was an audience or who exactly was in the audience. Truth be told, I seldom knew who was in the audience until everything was over and I got a telephone call from my mother. Then again, I shouldn't have allowed Lula to talk me into helping her with a project in Vinnie's supply closet. All I knew with any level of certainty was that the door was closed, the room was small and smelled of dust, and the lightbulb was barely 15 watts. And it was stuffy. Did I mention that it was small?

"I was a professional," Lula said. "I remember how to do this. No one has asked me to do this in a long time. And, no, I don't know why it is so important to him."

I was also a professional, a long time ago. If I thought back on it, I could remember going to work and coming home in the same outfit with no mystery stains. I could buy a car and keep it more than six months. At one point, I kept the same car for almost three years, I didn't realize I'd consider that to be a miracle now. My car insurance premium was reasonable. My voicemail didn't resound with the three Gs: guilt, grief, gossip.

"I was a more of a desk jockey. As far as this goes, you'd probably consider me to be semi-professional," I said. "Since you're the one who sought me out, which one of us is in charge right now?"

Lula grunted. "Fine. You can be in charge, but it's just this once."

"Fine. Step in front of me. Your feet need to be shoulder width apart. Put your arms through the straps, lean forward, and put your hands on your knees. Oh, and don't forget to breathe."

"You aren't going to look or laugh, will you?" Lula asked.

"On my honor, no laughing." I would have felt better about things, but I heard a shuffle outside of the door. "I won't even look."

"Wait a minute. Don't you need to look? I always need to look. That's why God made mirrors so we know what we look like when we are making an attempt at something like this."

"Nope. After I was about fourteen, I always did it by touch. Come on, you are dragging your feet. It won't be that bad." Maybe I'd need to look. What you do for yourself isn't always them same as what you need to do for others. I was a pro at taking care of me. Sort of.

She turned around and faced me. "Fine."

"Fine."

I twirled my finger indicating that we couldn't unless I was facing her back. "Fine. Now let me get behind you again and no more complaining or procrastinating. Remember, you're the one who wanted me to do this. Are you sure this is the right size?" The item in my hand seemed small and probably not up to the task at hand.

There was more scuffling and shuffling outside the door. Great. Just great.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm a-"

"Yes, I remember. You're a professional." I took a deep breath and wondered if Lula really wanted to do this in the first place. "We're both professionals."

She glared at me. Probably she didn't like my tone of voice. Then again, few people were willing to argue with Lula about much of anything. "Remember, you promised you wouldn't tell anybody."

I wouldn't, but there was no telling if Connie would keep quiet or what Vinnie had overheard. Plus there was no telling if anyone additional was outside the door.

"You're dragging your feet. Lean over and hold on to your knees," I said. Probably I shouldn't get short with her, but there was no telling who was outside and whether or not Vinnie had drilled a hole in the wall. "If you don't want to hold your knees, you can always brace the wall. Not that I'd recommend the wall, there's no telling the last time it was cleaned."

I grabbed the Lycra band of Lula's new bra and pulled. Hard.

"Are you sure this is the right size?" I asked. "Cause it doesn't feel like it."

"You know how it is, things fit differently after you've had them a while. You have to break things in."

I no longer believed in breaking things in. Well, I did if they were incredible heels that are one half size too small and just a teensy-weensie bit too small. But that isn't something I do regularly. Much.

There was a snicker followed by a shushing sound.

"Lula, if you are sure this is the right size, we can try again, but I might need reinforcements. This could be a two or three person project."

She turned around and put her hands on her hips. "I bought the same size and model I did ten years ago. It was the last time I needed to buy something like this. It's a little worse for wear, but I still have it in my purse. I'll show it to you."

"I believe you."

That would explain a lot. In the three years I've known Lula, she has become, well, more lush. I know that Tank and her other boyfriends have appreciated the bounty of her beauty, but if a thing didn't fit, it didn't fit. Then again, I had about two more years before I had to seriously watch my caloric intake. Hungarian genes and hormones or no, the Mazur women fought with gravity and gravy after 35 and it was a grudge match. I wasn't ready for a grudge match of any kind, a fudge match with some pecans or walnuts maybe. Maybe there could be a divinity match? Nah. We were nowhere near Christmas and divinity disappears in about three days.

I took in a deep breath. "We'll try it again."

"OK. And so you know, everything I own is in the same size I wore ten years ago."

"Rotate," I said. Maybe she did in Lycra or spandex, probably not if she was talking cotton or wool.

I grabbed both halves of the bra and tugged. And pulled. And stretched. And tugged some more. "Deep breath." What? I could be just as encouraging as the next guy.

"I can't breathe any deeper," she said. "Just do it."

Grunting, tugging, pulling, and I finally got the first hook connected and it immediately popped off. The band missed my face by a fraction of an inch. Lycra is a magical fabric, but even it has its limits.

"It's not going to fit." It was never going to fit. Sneaking a look at the band size, it wouldn't fit me. It wouldn't even fit my grandma. There wasn't much to Grandma. She was pretty much a bad perm, a pair of trifocals, skin and bones.

"Why don't we go shopping together," I said. "I need a new one anyway."

"Fine."

"Fine. I'll back out of here and leave you to redress. I'll meet you in the lobby in a couple of minutes."

I had no sooner backed out of the storeroom than I backed into Ranger. Of course.

"Having fun?" he asked.

His lips tilted up a just the tiniest bit, which for him could have been a full grin or he was pondering the next word he was going to say.

Fun? Not really. My shoulders shrugged about as much as his lips tilted.

"I'm a lot of fun in the dark."

Yes. I remembered. A lot of fun on stakeouts, distractions, and going in pursuit of whichever drunk who staggered home in the small hours of the morning. Running, skidding, falling, stumbling, and more running. Who could forget all of the wheezing after the fact. There was that one amazing night and a couple of, shall we call them incidents, incidents. But that kind of fun felt hollow. It was great at the time, but just like eating marshmallows, a lot of consequence for something I knew better to live without.

I shrugged again.

"Want me to prove it?"

My head shook from side to side. "I don't have worker's comp with Vinnie and I don't have any jeans to replace these when I rip out the seat or the knees." I purchased some patches at the fabric store to cover the rips and holes in my work clothes. Probably I should take some sewing lessons to learn how to reinforce the seams. Maybe I could find my iron and just use iron on patches.

"Babe."

Lula staggered out of the storage room, tugging her shirt down over her middle. She was in pursuit of a Kleenex to wipe the sweat from her face. "I'm ready. I'm just going to leave a note for Connie. Then we can go shopping."

Ranger looked at me. I looked back. He raised an eyebrow in question. Did I raise mine in answer? No, I did not. It was a skill I never quite mastered. One day. Maybe. Ok, probably not.

* * *

TBC?

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Nothing ventured. Nothing gained. Just some overdue fun in the sandbox._

 _A/N: Thank you in advance for indulging me in reading. It's been far too long since I've revisited this piece. I think I know where I'm going, it will be a bit of a doddle. As always thanks to Harmony, Sunny, Tiinabelle, Rangerhunters, and Bluzkat for always inspiring me even when I'm lousy at staying in touch._

 _The current muse looks like William Levy in the poster for the movie The Veil (nope, haven't seen the movie but the image is pretty)._

* * *

Fine…We're All Professionals Here

Chapter 2

By Alfonsina

Most of my life, I've lived in the heart of the rumor mill. My mother still lives there; my apartment is on the outskirts. I still hear and am inundated with the rumors; I'm no longer in hourly contact with them. There have been rumors about everything from who was, or wasn't, pregnant. Who was up for a promotion, or the next to be laid-off at the button factory. Who skipped church because it had been so long since her last confession she was afraid the priest's ears would burn and set the whole church on fire. And the philandering husband who finally stayed at home because insurance no longer paid for his Viagra.

Rumor even has it planning reduces stress and increases productivity. To date, my life has been influenced by rumors, mostly the ones about others. I figure the highly touted benefits of planning are just more of those same rumors.

There are specific times in a woman's life when she should have a plan. Really organized, pulled together women have even been known to have backup plans. Some of them have backup plans to their backup plans.

In my life, it wasn't just a rumor that I've lived by seat of my pants. Until recently, I just kept putting one foot in front of the other without looking too closely at the road I was on. For the most part, I've avoided sinkholes but got tripped up in a couple of potholes along the way. But those potholes are a whole different story.

I like plans. I have even been known to make plans. I have seldom been known to actually follow a plan, any plan. At this moment in time, I didn't have a plan, much less a backup plan for the next two hours much less my life.

Today's plan was created and developed by Lula. The entirety of the plan consisted of the mall.

Going to the mall

Eating some fast food at the mall

Finding hair dye to match her nail polish and lipstick

Buying a bra that made her breasts defy gravity and could double as non-lethal weapons, in three colors

Re-heeling her favorite stilettos, again

We needed to avoid the stores closest to her heart to achieve the list in less than the thirty minutes she'd allotted. Bypassing her regular haunts, Lycra 'R Us and EATT. EATT stands for Edible Arrangements for Tasty Tatas. It's a store for the lush of figure allowing them to make their own erotic and exotic underthings. The products were all things were made of fruit roll ups and Red Vines whips. Patterns for Mardi Gras masks, string bikinis (both tops and bottoms)and gladiator sandals. The Exacto knife and hole punch sold separately. They did make PDFs available online and were scalable depending on the client's desired level of titillation.

Lula and I already ruined her plan by going over the allotted time because we didn't find anything that she thought was acceptable in the department stores. I figured we might make it to Frederick's of Hollywood, home of lace, garters, spandex, and all things crotchless and find something. To make matters worse, Victoria couldn't keep a secret big enough to uplift and support Lula's lovelies.

Lula's other plan was to improve her diet by increasing her intake of healthy fats and vegetables. Lula and I had just decided French fries counted toward her daily vegetables. The oil the potatoes were fried in was a healthy fat. Oh, and the catsup was made from tomato, so that counted toward her daily fruit exchanges. Really.

I dumped my purse until I found a scrap of paper big enough to scribble on and a pen that worked. We were going to have to increase beyond her timeframe and geographic constraints. It was time to make some notes.

"What is the real reason we're doing this?" I asked. I dipped a fry into a little catsup.

One eyebrow raised in a question of, "Really?"

Lula gently dabbed her fingers on the paper napkin. "I'm making over my life." she said. "It's time for someone other than me to see me as the professional I really am. Not the professional I used to be."

Nodding, I put the fries in my mouth. "I get it. But why that bra and that style?" A plain white bra with an underwire and full coverage cup just wasn't something I'd ever seen Lula wear. Not that I've ever gone out of my way to admire her under things, some of her outfits left nothing to the imagination. What had I seen? Purple, lace, demi-cup bras, sure. Bedazzled bras in neon, absolutely. Most of her bras gave her what my mother referred to as a double boob or cut her in the back so the back fat was so much more prevalent. But plain, boring bras that fit around the band and the cup at the same time, never. In my limited imagination, Lula and practical foundation garments went together like jelly beans and gravy; that is to say, not at all.

"Last night, when I was doing my nails," she flashed her bright blue nails at me so I could admire them, "the TV was on."

I grunted my encouragement. I also took two more fries and dipped them in the catsup. If I didn't say much, Lula probably wouldn't eat more than three-quarters of the order, and the desire to make me her personal bra shopper would end fairly quickly.

"The preacher was going on about things that let you down in life."

Lots of people had let Lula down from an absent father to an alcoholic mother to a psychopathic boxer who'd left her for dead three years ago.

"And it made me think of my granny. So, we're going to shop."

The Coke on the table was beckoning for my attention, too much salt on the fries. The cup had too much ice and not enough Coke. Too bad we hadn't gone to McDonald's or some place with an unlimited soda fountain where some of the ice could have been dumped out and replaced with more of the carbonated elixir of life.

"Is she a good person?"

Lula started to stack the fries like Lincoln logs and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Was." Lula took a deep drink of her own Coke. "I lived with her until she died when I was twelve. She's the only person who believed in me and supported my dreams." With a small bit of stealth, I removed two fries from the top of the French fry cabin she was constructing.

Wow. "Is that why you brought it with you?"

"The bra in my bag?"

I nodded.

"It was the last thing she ever bought for me. Told me that it was just like her: durable, reliable, supportive, and wouldn't let me down."

"The power of lingerie," I said. On more than one occasion, the wrong foundation garments hindered me. Mostly it was underwear that rode up when I had to run and wedgies felt like I was a magician's assistant about to be sawed in half.

She nodded, slapped my hand away from the pile of fries, and pulled three more from the heap.

"So, I'm going to own my power." She punctuated the sentence by raising her fist, complete with French fries, over her head.

Ok. "Power's good."

"And I'm starting by replacing everything in my underwear drawer." Her hand was still aloft, swaying and now her head was down, kind of like people at religious revivals. It was a moment almost begging for organ music to swell an AMEN to be shouted by the congregation, but it didn't feel like the right thing to say since it was just the two of us at the table.

In an instant, it felt like every eye was on us and there was a hush that fell over the food court. If I'd never experienced it before, I would have thought people were wondering what was happening at our table. Because I have heard a public space go almost silent in an instant, I knew what was happening.

Ranger.

Women usually fell mute wondering how a romance novel cover had come to life. Okay, so I've never seen him in one of those poet shirts in public, just in my fantasies. You know the ones, they're usually white, lace up the front and are undone almost to the solar plexus. The kind of shirt where you can tell if a man works out or not and whether or not he has chest hair or has been manscaped. And the hair. Lots of those guys have longish hair that is somehow escaping from a leather thong.

In public, Ranger typically wore tactical black cargo pants and a t-shirt either in black or in a dirty beige that was all but painted on. He'd been in the wind for about three months. Today he was in basic black and his hair was military short. Come to think of it, there have been some more modern romances with that kind of a guy on the cover. Not that I would know. Of course not. I tended to read Hamster Raising for Dummies or How to Get Out of Dinner with the Family while Still Getting Leftovers. No. I don't need to read bodice rippers; my bodices have been ripped by skips on more than one occasion. Why fantasize about something that's humiliating, uncomfortable, and wound up costing me money?

"Can we talk?" Ranger asked. The palm of his hand was on the back of my neck and kneaded it gently. My neck stretched forward of its own accord to encourage him to keep it up. If it had been possible to transmogrify into a cat, it would have been the perfect ending to a mediocre day. Just to be stroked and rubbed by those long, firm, intuitive fingers would be bliss.

There were times even in the recent past when Ranger would say things and I'd attempt to form words and nothing of any consequence came out. Once in a great while, I could hold up my end of a conversation, provided I wasn't looking directly at him and couldn't smell him. If his aftershave or body wash wasn't too fresh, my hormones stayed put. A freshly shaved and showered Ranger made my mind go blank. Any words that came out of my mouth those times was usually just babble. Odds were good that today was going to be another day of babble.

I took a deep breath and nodded. Sure, we could talk. Most likely it wouldn't be a bad talk; I hadn't lost any of his company's skips lately and the fleet insurance premium on his cars hadn't gone up since he'd been out of town. Currently, I was driving an old Datsun station wagon that had more visible Bondo than paint. It was from the 60s and was so ugly even the junkyard didn't want it in the yard. No one would steal it. The wagon looked like it had been hit multiple times.

Lula rolled her eyes at me. Somehow, Lula had developed an immunity to Ranger's presence. She used to stop breathing and find herself glued to whatever spot she occupied when he entered her space. I don't know what changed. Probably I should find out. "Sure, if you can talk to her all you want if leave this long, tall drink of water with me."

My entire body was still facing away from Ranger, enjoying the brief connection. I hadn't turned around to see if he was alone or with Tank. He wasn't with Tank; Tank was tall and built like an outhouse. Turned out Ranger was with someone who looked to be about twenty, tall, skinny, and awkward. The t-shirt that was so lovingly painted onto Ranger's body hung limply from the new guy. His long, red hair was back in a ponytail, and his beard was full enough he could have been a barista almost anywhere that served fancy coffee concoctions in a place that did beat poetry.

"Ladies, this is Roy," Ranger said. "He's in from the Miami office."

Roy bobbed his head at us. "Hello."

Ranger turned toward Roy and completed the introduction. "This is Stephanie Plum and Lula-"

Lula stood up so fast she knocked her chair over. She flashed a smile at the unsuspecting Roy. Looked like bra shopping was going to be postponed, possibly indefinitely. What ideas she might have formulated were beyond me but by the looks of things he was all grown up and could probably win if there was a power struggle or he might be able to vanish into thin air. Most of the guys who worked for Ranger were capable of becoming smoke; they quietly escaped bad situations

"Well hello, Roy," Lula said. "Let's leave them alone to talk." She took his arm and guided him to a table several feet away.

I took one more sip of my Coke, grabbed my purse, and inelegantly stood from the table. Then I realized it was raining outside and if Ranger wanted to talk to me, he could do it at the food court and breathe in stale oil and over-processed food. As inelegantly as I rose, I immediately resumed my seat, straightened a little and waited.

"What's up?" I asked. My gaze fixed to his left cheekbone; it was close enough to his eyes he would assume I met his gaze.

"I need your help," he said. Yes, the master of short sentences that illuminated next to nothing and yet could expose me from everything from grocery shopping for twigs and berries to wrestling in Jell-O to anything in between. Normally help implied a short skirt, high heels, and half an hour in a dive bar. Sometimes it meant he needed a female to escort a female fugitive across state lines.

Once when he needed help, he had to buy something for his daughter, Julie, and he couldn't or wouldn't go to the mall himself. For some unknown reason, Ranger, who could handle storming into the worst situations with guns ready to blasé, wasn't capable of shopping for a twelve-year-old girl. Had he never heard of Amazon? That he was at the food court in a mall in the middle of the day indicated just how desperate he was. Wow.

My eyebrow raise failed. The skill to raise a solitary eyebrow to indicate surprise or skepticism wasn't a skill that I ever mastered. Both of my eyebrows went up as in total surprise, more comedic than dubious.

Automatically my hands rolled over themselves to indicate he needed to proceed. Being part Italian, hand gestures come in handy when I don't want to say too much.

Fifteen seconds passed before I caved and asked, "With?" I asked because the times a yes flows from my lips, the situation wouldn't be one I would usually agree to. I've said yes and gotten stuck babysitting for a long weekend with my sisters three sick kids, or I've had to provide cupcakes for my eldest niece's homeroom. I even said yes and wound up co-signing on a loan for a car for a former boyfriend and ended up paying for most of it for several years to save my meager credit.

He took a deep breath and said, "Never mind."

"Really, you tracked me down to ask me to help you with nothing?" So maybe I was turning into a cat. Maybe I was moody and persnickety, clever, and agile. No. Probably not. I was moody and persnickety, but seldom could I be accused of being clever much less agile.

He looked across the food court to see if Lula and Roy were still there. "Fine." The word was so quiet I hardly heard it.

Fine? Fine? Whenever I say that word, it indicates that everything is anything except fine. Things must have been dire for Ranger to resort to _fine._

I took a deep suck on the straw of the Coke, closed my eyes, and enjoyed how the sugar hit my system. "It's totally not fine. You made a special effort to find me to ask me something. What gives?" I asked.

He righted Lula's chair, turned it so the back faced the table, and straddled it. Maybe if I hadn't thought of it as straddling, I wouldn't have blushed. The very idea of Ranger straddling anything gave me a momentary hot flash. Having decided six months ago that a game of red light green light with Morelli just wasn't my cup of tea, I'd been single. Too bad there weren't any Meetup groups for single people who are overly attached to their hamsters to get together and mingle.

"Julie's going to be in town," he said. He ran his hand over his hair, closed his eyes, and dropped his head.

"That's great. When's she coming?" I'd met Julie a couple of years before. The circumstances were far less than optimal, but kidnapping will do that to you.

"In an hour."

Ok. Mr. Prepared-for-Everything was obviously not prepared for this visit.

"Roy and I have a meeting in Philadelphia and we have to be there two hours ago."

Awesome. Why was he just now having this conversation with me? He could have said something before Lula and I left Vinnie's parking lot. He could have called, texted, or even tried telepathy. Did he want to borrow a time-turner or whatever they were called from Harry Potter? I was far too old to be cast as Hermione, but there were days when my hair was equally scary.

"What does this mean to me?" I asked. My father's words of wisdom came back loud and clear, "NAVY, Stephanie. N-A-V-Y. Never again volunteer yourself. That acronym will save you a lot of headaches and heartache."

Have you ever noticed how the first person who says something tends to lose? I had no intention of losing today. Mostly because I was clean, comfortable, had a full fridge of food, and a light caseload. My life was in a pretty good place for the time being and I didn't want to mess it up.

"Can she stay with you for three days?" Ok. So I was never going to outwait Ranger or win in a silence contest.

Three days? Like I have no life? I'm supposed to babysit a fifteen-year-old girl? Or was she fourteen? It'd been at least a couple of years since I'd seen her.

"I'll pay you."

"I thought what we had didn't have a price." So the words were trite and sometimes stung. The implication that I wouldn't help with his daughter out of the goodness of my own heart hurt. More than just a little.

"It's not that. She needs _things_ that I can't handle for her and I don't want you to pay for my responsibilities."

Great. That could mean anything from taking her to the Ob/Gyn to having a full makeover to who knew what?

"Where will we stay? I am assuming she's not going to stay in your apartment alone." I didn't really want to stay at Ranger's apartment, it was too clean, too slick, and smelled too much like him. Plus the fridge only ever had yogurt and stuff to make smoothies.

"You can stay there or your place. You can even go to an extended stay hotel with a kitchenette if you want," he said. At least he had the wherewithal to look a little sheepish. "It won't inconvenience you, will it?"

I picked up the pen and a scrap of paper and scribbled some numbers. How much would meals for three days be? Did she only ever eat organic? Would my hot water heater survive two females who took showers longer than five minutes? Would his employees take on my current work load so I wasn't out my regular income? How much gas would I need to take her on errands? How many tranquilizers would my mother need after the rumor mill started that I now had a _little visitor_ who was probably taller than she was? I came up with an arbitrary figure of four-hundred-and-twelve dollars.

He dug into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He thumbed through the plastic inserts until he came to a black card. Yes, that black card. The one American Express gives only to the top of the top. I was about to take deep calming breaths when he thumbed to one more card, it was blue and not overly exciting.

"The card has six-thousand on it. Pre-paid. Whatever's left would be yours. If you need more, the office can re-fill it for you."

Six-thousand dollars for three days with a teenager? With unspecified needs and responsibilities? Alone? No, thank you very much.

I was about to decline when Lula rejoined us at the table, Roy in tow.

"Roy here just propositioned me," she said. I hadn't seen her smile that big in a long time. "Three days and ten-thousand dollar budget to look after Julie and take her shopping. What'd you think?"

Ranger shot a look at Roy. He'd been beaten to a possible punch and he'd been outbid.

"Looks like your needs have been handled," I said. "Thanks for thinking of me." Before I could say anything else, I stuffed a French fry in my mouth. Somehow I felt hollow. Just a couple of minutes ago, I felt pretty content with how my life was. There was enough of about everything and not too much stress. Sure my bank account was always needing to be topped off, but other than that life was pretty evenly keeled. Now I felt like I was the also-ran. Again.

"I'll match Roy's offer, and give you a bonus. Would that work?" Seldom had I ever seen Ranger look uncomfortable. He looked decidedly uncomfortable and unhappy.

"Hey, mister," Lula said. "I've been professional for a long time. Don't you trust me with your little girl?"

* * *

Thanks as always for reading/reviewing and trusting that I didn't disappear forever. ~Alf.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nothing ventured. Nothing gained. Just some overdue fun in the sandbox.

A/N: Thank you in advance for indulging me in reading and for those of you who have been so gracious as to review, a heartfelt thank you.

At one time, I wrote around the clock ... then it wound down. The current goal is to update about once a month.

Also for the record: I loved the books up to and including 12 Sharp - that's where the series ends for me.

I think I know where I'm headed with this thing, it will be a bit of a doddle. As always thanks to Harmni, Sunny, and the ever amazing Tiinabelle, for always inspiring me even when I'm lousy at staying in touch.

The current muse looks like William Levy in the poster for the movie The Veil (nope, haven't seen the movie but the image is pretty). You will likely want to go to YouTube to look for Carlos Vives and the song Robarte un Beso - he will play a big role in this and the song lyrics might even come in handy, too. (And I can never get links to work here - so sorry about that)

Fine…We're All Professionals Here

Chapter 3

By Alfonsina

"I'll match Roy's offer, and give you a bonus. Would that work?" Seldom had I ever seen Ranger look uncomfortable. He looked decidedly uncomfortable and unhappy.

"Hey, mister," Lula said. "I've been professional for a long time. Don't you trust me with your little girl?"

Lula had her hands on her hips and looked the way I always thought a bull would look at a bullfighter with a red cape; she was about to charge. And I don't mean Visa or Mastercard.

"Not a problem, Lu," I said. "I know he trusts you." If I'd been sitting next to Ranger instead of across from him, I'd have elbowed him in the ribs. I did shoot him daggers. Lula was like the river you could never enter twice because like the river, she was always changing. Sometimes she even changed for the better.

If Roy's grin could have been any bigger it would have fit on two faces. "It should be a piece of cake," he said. "Because Uncle Uriel will be able to help. He traveled with her."

Ranger shot a look at Roy I couldn't quite make out. It was part horror, part astonishment, and part embarrassment.

"Explain," Ranger said.

Yeah. What he said.

Roy looked at his hands, admired his fingernails, and stuffed his right hand in his front jeans pockets. He raised the other to his mouth and coughed, "Rachel."

From what I'd understood, Ranger had a cordial if distant relationship with Rachel, his ex-wife. Maybe not. Maybe she'd become more demanding.

Ranger lowered his head and took a deep breath. "You were going to tell me when?"

"Easy, big guy," Roy said. "Before she got here." Roy took my cup, removed the lid, and chugged about half of my Coke. Too bad it didn't go down the wrong pipe. "Only about five minutes before she arrives is still before she gets here."

I glared at Roy. Presumptuous much? Lula and I had both been put on the spot. And while it was a different spot, Roy put Ranger on a different and equally uncomfortable spot.

Ranger, the man I thought was prepared for all contingencies at all times, apparently, wasn't. At least not for this event, these players, and this situation. It wasn't as good as watching dirt stick to one of Ranger's basic black vehicles or catching him in wrinkled clothing. This was more like watching him get caught with his hand in the giant size bag of nacho flavored Doritos watching reality TV with a case of bedhead. Completely out of character, unexpected, and humanized him just a little. Nice.

"Who exactly is Uncle Uriel?" Lula asked.

Good question, Lula. Who was he? There was no point in wondering why I didn't know the name. Ranger only let out drips and drabs about his work, much less his personal life. Roy was a fountain of information and Ranger was a leaky pipe, just a little leak here and there.

Roy continued to smile. He even rocked back on his feet. "I just call him uncle because he's so much older than I am. He's my cousin. Ranger's dad." Roy waved his hand between his torso and Ranger's. "Cousins."

"First cousins, once removed." Ranger cringed as he muttered the words. He pulled a French fry from the pile on the table, dunked it in the catsup and almost, almost put it in his mouth. He put it down, wiped his hands on a used napkin, and closed his eyes.

Even though I'm Italian Catholic from a relatively small nuclear family, my family is actually pretty big. By the time you got into first cousins once removed, or even twice removed, not to mention second and third cousins, it was pretty much a miracle I wasn't related to every Plumeri, Plum, Russo or Esposito in a thirty mile radius. We never needed family reunions; all you needed was a wedding, funeral, or a great sale at Macy's and all of us seemed to be in attendance. Sorry, rambling. Back to the point, even though I've got oodles of cousins, I've never gotten the hang of the once removed thing, not that it really mattered. It sure did seem to matter to Ranger.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Lula bounce on her toes. She was going to have a good payday in addition to satisfying her curiosity about all things Ranger.

The personal things I knew about him were pretty limited. Before Julie was kidnapped, I was one of about six people in Jersey who knew Ranger had a daughter, had a shotgun wedding, and been married for about twenty minutes while he was in the military. I knew he had a juvenile record, had been sent to Miami to live with his grandparents until he finished high school. There was always the fact that his wardrobe contained a lot of black, flat-dark-earth, beige, and forest green. He went into lockdown quickly and pretty thoroughly when circumstances demanded. Oh, and the solitary pair of black silk boxers. You might think that the solitary pair of silk boxers wasn't personal, but I'd beg to differ.

About two years ago, during that horrible kidnapping incident, the entire tri-state area and most of the east coast found out about Julie. Her picture and Ranger's were on news bulletins and newscasts for the longest week of any of our lives. It made his life high profile and that wasn't something he'd ever wanted. On the other hand, when about half of his skips saw him, they surrendered immediately. The other half of his skips put him through his paces, good thing he did well in obstacle courses when he was in the military.

"When is she due to arrive?" I asked. I'm not sure who I aimed my question at, Roy seemed to be in the know but Ranger was ultimately responsible.

"Soon," Ranger said. He pushed a button on his cellphone, presumably to check the time. "After they get their bags from the train, they should be here in about half an hour."

Cut things thin much?

"Why would you send for that poor child on the train? Couldn't you afford a plane ticket?" Lula asked. She was about to become indignant on Julie's behalf.

"After the whole Scrogg thing, she doesn't like being on planes. It was either Amtrack or the bus," Roy said. Seemed Roy was pretty well informed about Julie's life, preferences, and even her foibles. Wondered what he actually knew and would be willing to divulge about Ranger. Hmm. Maybe old Roy could be paid off in either beer or doughnuts. Then again, maybe not.

"Tougher to get a gun or a knife on a plane," Ranger muttered. He'd said that to me once before and on the initial search for Scrogg, we'd gone by train. It wasn't like it was totally impossible to travel with a firearm, but it wasn't a walk in the park. I didn't think a train was much better, but now wasn't the time to research it.

"How long did you say she was going to be here?" I asked. I wasn't really sure why it was important to me to know, it wasn't like I was going to be looking after her or 'Uncle Uriel.' This was Lula's gig.

"Four nights and three days," Roy said.

"Has the girl got a bucket list?" Lula asked.

Ranger raised an eyebrow and almost scowled. It wasn't just an over firming of his lips, this was an out and out scowl. I've been on the wrong side of the scowl before and it almost made my panties damp, and not in a fun way. It was more of a which-third-world-country-do-you-want-to-live-in kind of a way. There were a lot of times when I've been glad not to be Lula, this was definitely one of them. The other was anytime when Vinnie was in the office and noises emanated from behind the, hopefully, closed door.

"Fine. Fine," she said. "I'll figure something out. I was going to do some redecorating this weekend anyway."

I've been outside Lula's building but never been inside of her apartment. To say the neighborhood was sketchy was to be kind, I hoped the kid had had all of her shots and that Uncle Uriel stayed close and was intimidating. Then again, Lula's idea of redecorating probably had precious little to do with Ranger's idea of redecorating.

"Oooh, that sounds like fun," the baritone voice from right behind Lula. "It's been years since I've redecorated."

The voice belonged to an older version of Ranger, a little softer and a lot greyer. Same smile, flawless skin, and presence. For as much black as Ranger wore, this guy wore grey from head to foot. He had two grey duffle bags over his left shoulder and a computer bag in his right hand.

As soon as a woman screamed, "Carlos Vives! Carlos Vives is here! Oh my God!" Several chairs overturned, a couple of trays were dropped, and then the man was practically swarmed. Julie, who had been right behind her grandfather, was left behind the crowd of women posing for pictures with Uriel.

"Dad. Dad! DAD," Ranger barked. "Good to see you, where's Julie?"

Julie came around the horde of female admirers and gave a tentative wave to Ranger. You would think he hadn't been going to Miami every month to see her, then again, when he went, he probably spent as much time at the office as he did with her. Maybe more. There likely wasn't a lot of father-daughter bonding except maybe over frozen yogurt with granola. Poor kid.

I hadn't seen her in almost two years and boy howdy had she changed. She no longer looked like a kid, she was very much an adolescent. She was still tall for her age, almost my height of five foot seven, had an athletic build, and didn't look at all twelve. The hair was long, straight, and very dark. The once flawless skin had been visited by the pimple fairy. And she was developing curves. It wouldn't be long before she was a heartbreaker in a wholesome young Selena Gomez way.

Julie skidded to a stop in front of me and asked, "Is he pretending to be Carlos Vives again?"

"Maybe," I said. "Who's Carlos Vives?"

"A Columbian singer. He's kind of old, but not as old as Uri. And he has curly hair." She rolled her eyes as though no one was as old as her grandpa. "Mom liked his music for a while." I could tell that that was before her grandfather pretended to be _him_ in public. "Until _he_ decided to grow his hair and perm it. How 80s is that? At least Ranger isn't pretending to be Ricky Martin again."

Ranger had pretended to be Ricky Martin? When? Where was I? When Julie was kidnapped, Ricky Martin was mistaken for Ranger on several occasions. They had the same build, gorgeous smile, and charisma. Actually, Ranger usually kept a tight lid on the charisma and Ricky Martin made his living letting it loose. On two different distractions, I got to dance with Ranger; from what I remember, their hips gyrated in almost the same way. At that time, they even had a similar haircut.

Damn.

I rolled my eyes in sympathy. "How was the trip?"

"Long. It was like a day and a half of being cooped up in one place. Uri doesn't talk much."

That trait must run in the family.

"Hopefully the scenery was worth it and there weren't too many stops." I was at a loss what to say. Sure, I spent time with my nieces and they were in the same age range, but we had a long history and they mostly entertained themselves. Maybe it was a good thing that Lula was in charge for the next couple of days.

A large hand clasped my shoulder and almost forced me into Ranger.

"And who might you be, sweetheart?" Uriel asked. "I'm Uriel Manoso. Uri to my friends."

"Dad, this is Stephanie Plum, she's my distraction expert, and-" Ranger said.

Before he could either elaborate or introduce Lula, she put her hand out and said, "Lula. It's going to be a great three days."

Uriel gave Lula the once over and looked more than a little skeptical. "What do you have planned? Her dad never did say what he had in mind."

"We were just getting to that," she said.

Julie looked horrified. "No. No way. When he," she looked directly at her grandfather, "plans things, it's like he wants me to try out for American Ninja Warriors. I just want to hang out and do whatever you would normally do."

Oh God, that could be interesting.

Before anyone could say anything, Ranger reached for his wallet. He thumbed back through his credit cards, pulled out a black one, the one he'd bypassed before, and handed it to me. It had my name on it. What the hell? How long had he had it? What was I supposed to use it for?

I pursed my lips. Just having been handed the keys to the kingdom, also known as the shoe department in any store I wanted to shop, there was a fear I was going to hyperventilate.

"Babe, get calm. It's for emergencies."

Shoes, the right shoes. Better yet, the right shoes on sale that made my legs look good and showed off a good pedicure could be an emergency.

"What kind of emergency do you foresee?" My mind had flipped to some of the really cute bra and panty sets at Victoria's Secret. Or maybe the really cute jeans I'd seen in one of the storefronts.

"Bail money."

Oh boy.

A/N: Like I said, this is a bit of a doddle ... I've always wanted to know more about Ranger's family. Since Ranger's kept his mouth firmly closed, I thought it'd be fun to see what his father had to say.

Thanks as always for stopping by. Besos a todos, Alf.


End file.
